


Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

by Resri



Series: One Flame With Seven Tongues [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Movie(s), Ravager-typical violence, how they all met, the Kree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resri/pseuds/Resri
Summary: They are the admirals of the most fearsome group of pirates in three galaxies. The leaders of a whole society of scoundrels and cut throats, held together by a code of honor and a culture of their own.But how did those larger-than-life figures become who they are today? How did the seven tongues of the Ravager flame meet?





	1. Stakar

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to HaviCat, you are awesome and have the most awesome ideas. Thank you for letting me bounce ideas ofof you <3<3<3

When Stakar is 19, he leaves his homeworld Arcturus for the last time. Not that he has much choice in the matter, seeing as his extremely wealthy and powerful father disowns him and threatens to have his only offspring executed, should he ever see him again.  
It may sound extreme, but Stakar is not all that surprised. He knows his father, the head of the family Ogord and leader of the Arcturian military fraction called the Reavers. The man sees their future in war, in taking over Arcturus and building an empire that is equal to both the Nova and the Kree. He is also, in Stakar's humble opinion, completely delusional.  
Their family had once, a long time ago, been priests of an old, pacifistic creed. They were so faithful that they had named themselves after their prophet Ogord, calling him their next of kin, the highest honor an Arcturian can bestow. Only the last three generations have turned their backs on the teachings of old, and made the Ogords a family of warmongers. While Stakar is willing to fight and kill for what he sees as right, or even for his own gain, the brutality and senseless slaughter for the sake of destruction his father is so intent on makes his stomach revolt. 

He grew up among politicians and warriors, has received the best education money can afford, and has been put through a hard training. He has mastered all this, knowing that every step he took was a disappointment to his father.  
The body and mind can be conditioned, but the soul cannot be disfigured. It's a saying from the old religion, and Stakar likes to think his soul did not bend under his father's tutelage.  
He questions orders and clashes with his superiors, he sabotages maneuvers and embarrasses his father whenever he can. His last name gives him access to the highest circles of society, and he uses it to talk about some of the old teachings (he does not believe in all of them, but in many. They are better than anything the Reavers and their supporters and followers have to say), and gets laughed out of the room. They see him as a rebellious youth at first, when he is about sixteen. Once he is an adult, he gets admonished, since they now expect him to act like one. He still does anything in his power to bring shame to the family.  
Finally, his father loses his patience and gives him an ultimatum. Leave Arcturus in one day cycle, bereft of his name and his place in the clan of Ogord, and never return, or get executed for betraying his family and dying in dishonor. 

Stakar is angry that the Reavers are still so popular in some circles of society, that they gain power, that they may start a civil war, but in the end he did all he could. Society on Arcturus is decaying, and one over-educated boy with old ideas can't change that. He does not have enough acting talent to pursue politics, and not enough passion to sacrifice his life for the willingly deaf and blind. 

Before he goes, he uses all his intellect, cunning and skill to break into the family vault and steal his father's most treasured possession: The Ogordian solar wings, an ancient artifact of the old religion that grants their bearer extreme speed and the ability to fly.  
Stakar muses, while attaching the wings to his shoulders, that his father doesn't really have a need for them anyway. It'd be a waste to leave something so useful to rot in the tomb of forgotten heroes.  
He is gone before the guards have the chance to storm the vault, and safely on the first ship headed for deepspace before his face lights up the screens of every bounty hunter on Arcturus. 

Said ship, an ugly thing called _Oorga's Pride_ that looks like it was bolted together by a toddler, is listed as a merchant vessel. In reality, Stakar, going by a fake name, has accidentally hired onto a smuggler ship, and after helping his new crew unload a whole cargo hold full of stolen Arcturian art works from a hidden room behind a wall that is, by all means, not big enough for 20 man sized crates, he decides to stay. It lasts for three years.  
Captain Nole, a middle aged Aakon, appears like a simple-minded but good natured fellow to Nova Corps and planetary security forces alike. He is the sleaziest, most devious not-politician Stakar has ever met. The money is shit, Nole cheats him out of every other paycheck, and he gets the crappiest jobs there are on this rustbucket of a ship, but he gains something that no high class fancy ass education could ever teach him. 

He learns how to play the system. 

He also learns to hate the Kree. In his twenties, Nole was a pilot in the Never Ending War (which would later be called the 1000 Years' War) against the Kree empire, and every time the yellow skinned man got enough alcohol in his system, he would lose his cheerful facade and tell stories of the horrors he had seen. The man's fear of them sits so deep in his bones that the _Oorga's Pride_ never goes close to Kree space, even though the job opportunities would be plentiful. 

That fact doesn't help them much though when a stray Kree ship surprises them on their journey along a sparsely frequented trading route (perfect for smugglers). They're far between worlds, utterly alone, and hopelessly out gunned. The Kree make short process of their weapons systems and cut through the hull of the _Oorga's Pride_. Twelve blue skinned bastards in heavy armor board with their necroblasters primed, and shoot everyone they come across. Stakar's crew only consists of about 20 people, and while they can all wield a blaster and had the occasional altercation with security or stingy clients, none of them can hold their own against the children of the Kree empire. Most hide in the many nooks and crannies their ship has to offer, some go for the escape pods. Stakar sees how the two that make it out get shot to bits, and decides against that strategy. He can fight well, has learned it back in the academy on Arcturus, but he is not dumb enough to believe he can take on twelve heavily armed Kree with nothing but a blaster and his solar wings. Maybe on an open field with plenty of room for maneuvering, but not in the cramped space of the tiny merchant vessel. 

It's one thing to learn about the warmongering Kree and their customs in school, it's another to watch the people you have lived and worked with for nearly three years get slaughtered in under five minutes. Stumbling over two of his friends from the engine room, one with a blackened hole in his chest, the other missing their entire head, he feels fucking useless, but while he wants to kill the invaders with his bare hands, he knows it's suicide.  
So he uses his head, educated by the best teachers his father's money could buy, and does the only smart thing in this situation. He climbs into the vents. They are claustrophobia inducing, but he can be sure if a lean 22 year old barely fits into them, a tall, bulky Kree soldier in heavy armor definitively won't.  
He crawls all the way from down by the engine room where he had his shift up to the bridge in the desperate hope of Nole - clever, insidious Nole - still being alive and having a plan of how to deal with the Kree. The man has experience with fighting them, he is his crew's best chance. 

Stakar's crawl is slow and dirty, and he has to grit his teeth every time he can hear the screams of his crew mates down below when they get pulled out of their hiding spots. The screaming never last long. 

Finally he reaches the bridge and it's quiet. No shuffling, no cursing, not even the creaking of the nav controls that drove everyone crazy since before Stakar joined the crew. When he peers through the grate, it's just in time to watch a Kree man in black robes enter. He is carrying a hammer.  
Captain Nole is motionless and on his knees with two soldiers aiming their necroblasters at his head. The moment he sees the accuser striding in he starts whimpering. 

The accuser grins cruelly, coming to a halt in front of the Aakon, and says, “You were hard to track down and should suffer for all the trouble you have caused us, but if you tell me where it is, I will be merciful.” 

Nole is shaking when he answers.  
“I-I-I don't know what you mean. W-What are you searching? I-I am sure I can f-find it for you. I'm very g-good at finding things, I..”, “Enough!” the accuser barks annoyed, making his captive flinch. He musters Nole with a bored and slightly irritated gaze. 

“You are transporting a Kree insignia of the Eldirass family. This holy family heirloom was stolen from a battle field, from the corpse of the oldest son of a noble family, dishonouring their name. They called upon the accusers, and I tracked the scavengers down. They told us _you_ , some ex-Nova Corps scum, are delivering it to the Collector on Knowhere.” 

The smile reappears on the accusers face when recognition shines in the Aakon's eyes, along with dread. Nole hastily stutters out, “I didn't know, sir! I didn't know what was in it! I was only hired to transport a package, I swear, if I had known what was in it I wouldn'a had-” 

He is silenced by a kick to the ribs from one of the soldiers when the accuser rolls his eyes.  
“Stealing a family insignia of one of the noble houses of the Kree empire, and therefore desecrating the remains of a fallen hero, is one of the highest crimes, but I think you are aware of that. Just tell me where the crate is, and I am willing to be forbearing with your sentence.” 

Nole nods frantically, and tells him where to find the package. One of the soldiers comms their companions to verify the information, and only a few minutes pass before they receive an answer. Stakar knows of the crate, if not of its content, so he is not surprised that the insignia is found. 

“Good. Transport it back to our ship. We will return to Hala shortly.” 

The accuser turns his attention back to Nole, who is trembling and staring up at him through wide eyes. There is no emotion in them but terror. 

“Now, Aakon, I promised to be merciful for your cooperation. Your death shall be fast.” 

Stakar watches, frozen, as the accuser hoists up his hammer and silences the screaming Nole by shattering his skull. 

He can't tear his eyes from the bloody pulp that used to be a face, brain matter and blood and bone splattered over the floor around a motionless body. The white noise in his ears nearly drowns out the words spoken by one of the Kree soldiers. “What about the rest of the crew? We have killed 16, but there may be more hiding. Their cargo holds are full, too.” 

The accuser shakes his head, and on his way off the bridge he says, “Leave their worthless plunder, it means nothing to us. Don't bother searching for survivors, we will simply blow the ship up.” 

Then they are gone, and Stakar is alone with his captain's corpse. 

He is out of the vents just in time to puke is guts out. After that he avoids looking at Nole and runs for the controls. It can't take long for the Kree to bring the insignia to their ship and evacuate, so he doesn't have time to lose his shit just yet. A quick look through the comm log reveals the distress signal that was sent shortly after the attack started. Stakar sends another, just to be sure, and then runs for the nearest air lock. 

~

Eleven hours later a Nova patrol reaches the coordinates from where a distress call was sent. A merchant vessel had hailed because a Kree ship was supposedly attacking it. At first, the Corps men hadn't believed that the Kree would raid some random merchant ship in the middle of nothing, so far from the borders of Kree space or any of their usual targets. They debated if it might be a trap. Then another distress call came in from the same ship, and it was decided that they would at least have to take a look. 

When the patrol ship finally reaches their destination after several jumps and hours of flight, they only find drifting debris. Scans show that the ship was destroyed by Kree weapons. Further scans show no life signs, except for one lone blip about two kilometers away from the wreckage. The Corps men pull a boy in a space suit with enough oxygen for another twenty minutes on board.  
He says he was employed on the merchant ship, that the Kree attacked them out of nowhere, that he had just started doing repairs on the outside of the hull and got flung off when they started firing, that he is just some rookie and had no idea what they had wanted. 

They bring the boy to the closest Nova space station for further questioning, but when he nearly breaks down because of the loss of his crew and the hours he spent drifting through space, they give him a warm meal and a bunk for the night. When someone comes to wake him and ask why the name he gave them didn't get any results, the room is empty, the bed is cold and a nondescript one-person-shuttle is missing.


	2. Aleta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His consciousness returns an undetermined amount of time later, and his skull lets him know how much it likes getting hit. He groans, clenching his eyes shut when a bright light sears his nerve endings, and then freezes when he hears an irritated sigh.

A year passes. Stakar makes money through stealing, smuggling, and mercenary work. He gains new contacts and keeps those he remembers from the _Oorga's Pride_. Nole had been a good business partner to most, and when Stakar throws his late captain's name around he usually finds someone to pay him for something. He jumps worlds, working in the engine rooms of some transporter or another, or let's himself be hired as guard dog for the longer trips, but doesn't stay anywhere permanently.  
Nearly four years to the day after fleeing, Stakar finds himself on a space station only a few days away from Arcturus. It's closer than he'd usually go, but a client has expressed their burning wish for a special piece of jewelry that is in the possession of the station's owner.  
While Arcturians haven't been planet bound for over 70 galactic cycles, seeing them off world is still uncommon, even this close to their home system. At fault are the inner disruptions of the Arcturian government. By now the different fractions go against each other in civil war-like street fights, with the Reavers and their superior training winning on most occasions. If the other groups can't work together and form a united front, there is not much hope for their survival, but family feuds are the norm in a society that bases so much on blood ties, and they are hard to overcome.  
Stakar is worried about his homeworld and what will happen if the Reavers should win. What his father will try to do to the galaxy.  
At the moment, though, he is on a high, grinning like an idiot and striding through the broad pleasure mile like he owns it. In order to get close to the prize, he had weaseled his way into the birthday party of the station's owner, where the man himself had taken a liking to a charmingly grinning Stakar. They drank together, quite a lot, and when the host had invited Stakar into his bedroom, the young Arcturian hadn't said no. The second the doors had closed, Stakar had knocked his would be one-night-stand out with a swift punch to the neck. Hacking the safe was no trouble at all, and then he was gone.  
In his pocket he can feel the weight of a gaudy tiara with a palm-sized gem at its' center, and two dozen precious stones as bonus. By the time the drunken host wakes and the theft gets noticed, he will be on a ship on his way to Hexazhen, one of the seventeen moons orbiting a gas giant a few clicks away, to deliver the booty to his buyer in exchange for the biggest paycheck he has ever received.  
Stakar is more than a little drunk, and so goddamned happy with himself and the universe in general that he doesn't expect a trio of Reavers to stroll around a corner, spot him, and follow discretely to the station's port, where they promptly knock him out. 

~

His consciousness returns an undetermined amount of time later, and his skull lets him know how much it likes getting hit. He groans, clenching his eyes shut when a bright light sears his nerve endings, and then freezes when he hears an irritated sigh.  
Blinking through the pain makes the world swim into focus, and he looks at a woman. She sits across from him, in the middle of a cargo hold. Apart from a bunch of crates secured to his left, the room is empty.  
The woman is cuffed to a chair, both arms and legs. That makes him look down at himself, and yep, same here. The solar wings and all of his weapons are missing, as well as his belt, which had contained most of his gadgets and tools. 

He gets pulled out of his contemplation of the design and quality of the cuffs by the woman's voice.  
“Are you done being useless?”

Stakar looks back up way too fast, and curses his throbbing head before really taking his companion in. She is clad in Arcturian warrior garb, but not the Reaver uniform. Some family of the western continent, he thinks. Her black hair is tousled and half obscures her sharp features, but her dark eyes seem to burn right through him and into his soul, devouring it like a hungry fire.  
She isn't pretty, she is otherworldly and vaguely terrifying. The most breathtaking scowl settles on her features when he doesn't answer, and maybe it's the concussion talking, but Stakar thinks he might be in love. 

“Fantastic, they locked me up with the brain damaged one,” she mutters, and Stakar manages to stop staring like an idiot. 

“I'm not,” he says, and she lifts an eyebrow. It's a very eloquent eyebrow, the arc seemingly formed by the Fibonacci sequence, a perfect dark curve above her glimmering eyes. He is momentarily fascinated by every tiny hair being in alignment, tidily in the right place, to convey her skepticism clearly. 

“Very convincing,” she says dryly. 

“Thanks,” he answers without thinking, and earns himself a snort and an eye roll. By now, she has lost her patience with him. 

“We need to get out of here. I don't care if your smarts leak out of your ears, you will help me.” 

Stakar meets her angry demand with a nod, forcing his eyes away from her face and his throbbing head back into the game, and focuses on the cuffs. His are the same as hers, an Arcturian model that is made out of metal links and has touch sensors in its casing. That way they can automatically fasten around whatever they get attached to.  
They are wrapped skintight around wrists and ankles, and fastened around the arms and legs of the chair, which is bolted to the ground. To open the cuffs, you need the remote control.  
Or something that can mimic the exact signal of every last one of these particular cuffs.  
Or something that can make the cuffs believe that the signal they receive is their signal. 

Stakar looks up with a grin. 

“These cuffs here are standard models used-”

“By the Reavers, I know,” the woman interrupts. 

“They are designed to fasten-”

“Around any shape they are put against and don't have a locking mechanism that could be picked by hand, _I know_ ,” she bites out, but Stakar doesn't let her bad mood rain on his parade. 

“Because it's remote controlled.” 

“And the remote is with our captors. The one with the northern accent wears it on his belt, he only checked on us once while you were still snoring, and he never got into grabbing distance.”  
She wiggles her fingers. Stakar just grins wider.

“Yeah, but we don't need him to, 'cause I got a little thingy here that may just do the trick.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?!” 

He doesn't have an answer for that, so he goes to business and bends over his left arm. In the lining of the sleeve of his nondescript blue leather jacket is a little sewed in pocket. The inside is covered with the best scanner blocking material he could afford. Stakar has a bit of trouble mouthing the hidden pocket open and pulling the fingertip sized box out with his teeth. He has to be careful in order to not crush the delicate tech, and places it gently on the top of one wrist cuff. Through the slight pressure of an incisor, the device activates, four little legs springing forth and clawing into the metal to get a secure grip. It sits there for a moment, like a tick, before a thin lines of light appear on its' surface to indicate that it's working. 

The woman is watching him with interest. 

“What is it doing?” she asks. 

“It hacks the cuffs' memory chip. Once it's in, it changes the data that defines the cuffs unlocking sequence to match its' own signal. If all the cuffs can be controlled by the same remote, it should only have to do the job once.” 

She nods, watching the slow shift of tiny Arcturian numbers and letters on the tick's surface. 

“Nifty.” 

“I made it myself,” Stakar proclaims proudly, and her gaze lifts up to his for a split second. 

“Maybe you aren't completely useless, after all.” 

 

They sit in silence for a while, watching the tick and listening for the Reavers. While there are footsteps passing down the corridor behind the door from time to time, their captors seem to be busy with the ship, or simply aren't interested in gloating at the moment, because they are left in peace.  
After minutes stretch into fucking eternity, Stakar can't resist any longer. 

“What was your name again?” he asks in what he hopes is a casual tone. 

His companion answers curtly without lifting her gaze from the tick.  
“I didn't tell you, and it's none of your business.”

It's not like he expected anything more than being blown off. Stakar likes to think he is a stubborn guy, so he continues.  
“Personally, I think we should have a basis for trust if we're going to work together.” 

He is met with silence. After a few seconds, he grunts “Fine. I'll start. My name is Stakar Og-” 

“I know who you are, dumb ass,” she barks, a fearsome scowl crinkling her brow, making her look like an angry goddess. 

“Everyone on Arcturus does. Your father is trying to take over the damned planet, and your face was all over the holoscreens with a nice fat bounty under it a few years back.” 

“Oh.” 

For a moment, he is silent. He _knew_ that his father would not let his theft slide, but had always banked on Arcturian bounty hunters, and Reavers especially, being too busy with their own shit to leaving their homeworld.  
That gives him an idea. 

“What are _you_ here for, then? They accidentally caught you while hunting for me, or what?” 

She snorts, rolling her dark eyes.  
“Well, aren't you self-centered. They accidentally caught _you_ while hunting for _me_ , pretty boy. No one knew where you were before you walked right into them. I heard them talking when they brought you in, and they couldn't believe their luck.” 

Stakar musters her with a besotted grin and says, “So you think I'm pretty?” and her face darkens further. 

“Get your fucking priorities straight, idiot,” she growls. 

“Please, my priorities are in perfect order,” Stakar laughs. “I already knew or at least surmised most of the things you just said. You are obviously a fine warrior, or the Reavers wouldn't send a bunch of their own to hunt you down. You wear the military garb of the western continent, which is the biggest thorn in my father's side, or at least was back when I was still on Arcturus, so you are probably a threat to their cause. I took care to stay under the radar in order to not attract attention from the homeworld, so they would have had to stumble over me by accident. The only new information I just gathered was that you think I'm pretty!” 

His self-satisfied grin dies on his face when he sees her expression change.

“Was,” she says, cold and stone faced. 

“What?” 

“The western continent _was_ the biggest thorn in your father's side, before he blasted our cities off the face of the planet.” 

There is a moment of perfect silence, where no one speaks, and Stakar doesn't even dare to breathe. He has no idea what to say, his insides frozen with dread, but she doesn't give him all that long to think before continuing.  
“Of all the continents, we stood in his way the most, so he decided to make an example. He vowed he would wipe out all the high families of the west that opposed him, every last drop of their blood, and then his Reavers dropped their bombs. And they got all of them, you see, along with countless innocents. All but one. One little woman, offspring of two of the high families, unable to carry either of their names, because she was forced to flee like a coward, because she is a soldier but couldn't protect her blood, because she lost her honor to a dishonorable maniac who will hunt her down until he made good on his promise. But yeah, you're right. I think you're pretty.” 

There is hatred in her dark eyes, cold as the vastness of space. Stakar opens his mouth to speak, when she interrupts again.  
“If you say sorry, I will rip your heart out the second your little doodad opens the cuffs.”

Stakar swallows his words, and overthinks what he wants to say. 

“I was going to say that I am ashamed to carry the genes of that man,” he says quietly. “And you are not dishonorable, or a coward.” 

She scoffs again, finally looking away and directing her hate at her knees.  
“What do you know,” she mumbles. 

“Sometimes you have to fall back and regroup to fight another day.” 

“Oh, I will fight again. I will hunt down your dear old daddy and kill him. Slowly and painfully,” she presses out between clenched teeth. 

“I will help you,” Stakar vows, more to himself than to her. 

There is surprise on her face, before an unreadable mask settles over it again.  
She scrutinizes him, and it feels like she cuts him open and bares his insides to the universe, so it can look its fill and judge his very soul. 

The spell is broken when the tick gives a small peep, and the cuffs fall open. 

Both of them blink down at their now free limbs, having momentarily forgotten what they were waiting for. Then they move in a flurry. 

“Do you know how many of them there are?” 

“I know of the six that took me down, and a seventh in the team that brought you in. There might be more.” 

“It took six Reavers to overpower you?!” he yells, and earns himself an eye roll. Yep, he is definitively in love. 

“Yes, now shut up! We are kind of dependent on surprise being on our side, since we only got the one weapon, so how about you don't alert every Reaver on the ship?” 

“Sorry... We have a weapon?” 

Her hand dips, and flicks back up again, and suddenly she holds a knife.  
“Those idiots didn't find it when they were searching me,” she says around a sharp grin. 

“Where the hell did you hide that?”

“Believe me, you don't wanna know.” 

They search the room quickly, but the Reavers aren't complete morons, so there isn't anything of use to them. The few crates on the side are filled with food rations, the chairs are bolted down. 

“Alright, we need to get to the armory. They should have stashed our stuff there. Weapons, jackets, hopefully my solar wings.” 

“Oh, so those things are real? You could sell them for a shit ton of money.” The woman looks oddly interested, and Stakar overcomes his infatuation long enough to growl, “Don't even think about it. They're not up for sale.” 

“Suit yourself. We have to take those bastards out first, anyway. This is a Reaver ship, you know the way to the armory?” 

Stakar takes another good look at the cargo hold, and the dimensions lead him to believe it's a 2nd generation freighter. Two big storage areas on the lower deck, probably where Stakar and his nameless friend currently are, and the engine room. On the upper deck are a smaller cargo hold together with the crew quarters and the bridge. There is no armory, but if there really are seven Reavers on this ship, their living area must be pretty cramped. No space to store the abundance of weapons that are usually in a Reaver's arsenal. 

“Yep. Our stuff should be on the upper deck, where most of the Reavers are gonna be,” Stakar says. “They seem a little overstaffed for one little freighter.” 

“That's because they came with two. I shot one of theirs down before they hit my bird. Sadly, most of those fuckers survived the crash,” she says with bared teeth. Oddly enough, the expression doesn't look unhappy. She shrugs casually, and adds, “It only meant I got to kill more of them close and personal.” 

That statement shouldn't be as hot as it is. 

Just as Stakar opens his mouth to say something witty and charming, she shushes him. There are footsteps in the hallway, horribly close already, and this time it's two sets. 

“Shit,” she hisses, and rushes to the door. “Time to improvise.” 

A second later the door swings open. She is right behind it and out of sight, but Stakar stands in the middle of the fucking room, and he can think of nothing better than to scream, “ALARM!” at the top of his lungs. 

The two Reavers flinch back violently. One of them right into their prisoner's knife. The other one brings his blaster up, alerted to his companion's demise by him hitting the floor with a gurgling cough. Stakar starts to run, to stop the Reaver from firing, to stop the shot from connecting with the woman. 

It's unnecessary. 

Before the first one has even stilled on the floor, she delivers a swift kick to the second one's solar plexus, and when he bends over wheezing, another kick to the side of his face. He gets flung backwards against the wall, and she immediately rushes him. The guy hasn't lost his gun, brings it back up again, but she slides on the floor, grabs his weapon arm and pulls while using her right leg to push his to the side to destabilize him. He is forced to bend to the right, and she brings her left leg up to wrap around his neck and roll them over. She squats above him, his blaster in her fist. 

A single shot rings out, and the room falls silent. 

"If your infernal screaming has just alerted _every_ Reaver on the ship, I'll use you as meat shield," she growls. 

In a fluid motion, like water flowing back into it's natural state, she gets to her feet. She isn't even out of breath. After handing the blaster over to Stakar, she retrieves her knife from the first guy, and pats him down, not finding another blaster, but a few more knifes. She twirls them to test their weight. He checks his newly acquired blaster, and finds that the energy clip has only another three shots left before it's empty. 

“You're very flexible,” Stakar tells her, hoping to sound casual and failing miserably. She snorts again. 

“You better have more to offer than standing around and screaming, because otherwise you're right back to useless.” 

He gives an indignant sniff, and vows to show her his abilities by wiping the floor with the remaining Reavers. 

They finally leave the storage bay. Luckily, the two corpses seem to have been the only enemies on the lower deck. The noise coming from the engine room must have masked what was going on down here. Unluckily, that means that at least another five Reavers are upstairs. 

Under the rungs leading to the upper deck, Stakar holds his companion back. 

“The storage room they will use as armory is on the left, at the end of the hallway. We'll have to sneak by the crew quarters.” 

“Great,” comes the sarcastic reply, and then she climbs up the ladder with the grace of a Talourian jungle cat. At the top, she peers over the edge, immediately ducking back down when a Reaver leaves what is probably the crew quarters mumbling curses under his breath. Raucous laughter fills the hallway before the door slides shut and muffles the sounds. The Reaver marches by, unaware of his observer, and heads down the corridor to what has to be the bridge. 

After he's gone, Stakar's companion lets a few moments pass before climbing over the edge. The ladder is in an alcove in the hallway where she waits for him to join her.  
Stakar points to the left, she nods, and they go. He keeps an eye on the door to the bridge so no one can surprise them from behind, and she on the crew quarters from where still voices and laughter rings out. 

“That sounds like a little more than just three people in there,” he whispers. 

“Yeah, well, I can only tell you about the seven I saw. Two of those are dead now, and another two have to be on the bridge," comes her hushed reply. 

They are just past that door when there is a quiet hiss from ahead, making both of them freeze. 

A Reaver stands in the open door to the armory, and this time it isn't Stakar who shouts, “ALARM!” at the top of his lungs. 

A knife swiftly embeds itself in the screamer's throat, but the damage is already done. The laughter in the crew quarters has broken off. 

Stakar and his companion look at each other, and simultaneously say, “Run.” 

They charge down the rest of the corridor, reaching the door to the armory just as it opens again for an armed Reaver, and just as the crew quarters spit six of his brethren out.  
Stakar shoots the one in front of him down, half tumbles into the armory closely followed by his lady friend, and hits the close button on it's side. He puts his last two rounds into it in order to keep the door closed for a few moments.  
There is screaming in the corridor, and someone runs against the metal. It dents alarmingly. 

“That won't hold them off for long,” she growls and marches over to the crates stacked along the wall. 

Stakar doesn't answer, because his attention is drawn by the golden shine of his solar wings. They lie on a table at the far wall, propped on a pillow like a holy relic with a light illuminating them.  
They aren't supposed to be put on display like a piece of art in a museum, and they sure as hell shouldn't lie dormant in an old, forgotten tomb. They are meant to sit on somebody's shoulders, on Stakar's shoulders, so he returns them to their rightful place.  
Then he grabs his two heavy blasters, flips the safety off, and turns to the door. It's close to buckling, the angry shouting and thumping of metal against metal nearly deafening. Stakar's companion has two machetes strapped to her back and holds a rifle in her arms like a lover. 

“Stay back,” he tells her, and she laughs at him. 

“Not a chance, pretty boy.” 

“No seriously, stay back for just a minute. This isn't going to take longer, and then we can fuck the rest up together.” 

She throws him a quick look, frowning at the ominous glow of the solar wings. When the door finally succumbs to the onslaught, she doesn't jump into the fray. 

Stakar grins, spreads his solar wings, and flies. 

Straight into the six Reavers that come charging in. 

They fire their weapons, but the fun thing about the wings is, Stakar has learned over the last year, if they are filled with their wearers energy, his life force, his _will_ , if wings and man are tuned to each other, they develop such a powerful aura that they simply absorb foreign energy. Like a sun eating an asteroid.

Not a single shot connects, and Stakar hits the Reavers like a cannon. 

One dies on impact, four die of blaster fire, and one's neck gets broken.  
Stakar stands in the middle of the corridor when he is done, bringing his heart rate back under control, and lets the glowing white light leave his eyes. The wings dim again, but their familiar weight and warmth stays on his shoulders. 

His companion rushes out of the armory, and laughs, bright and disbelieving. 

“That! Was _awesome_!” she shouts, brings her rifle up and puts a blast straight through the head of the Reaver that just appeared in the door of the bridge. She claps him on the shoulder and passes him by, marching down the corridor like a queen through her throne room. 

Stakar watches her go before remembering that he should probably follow. By the time he reaches the bridge, there is another corpse on the floor and his companion is currently battling the last standing enemy. She seems to be a tough one, and his companion takes a few pretty harsh hits, having lost her machetes, but when Stakar tries to intercept, she yells, “Stay away, pretty boy! This little fuck here shot me down last time, she-” a fist to the stomach interrupts her, and then she gets thrown against a console. When the Reaver steps close and grabs a fistful of ink black hair to smash her runaway prisoner's head against the metal, she laughs. Then she gurgles. A blade between the ribs does that to you. 

“I always bring a knife to a fist fight,” his companion grins through a mouth full of blood, and lets the Reaver drop. She looks feral and fierce and completely unhinged. 

“Do you want to marry me?” Stakar asks, and though she jumps up and whirls around so fast he can barely see the fist coming, he is not all that surprised when it connects with his face. While he can add a bloody nose to the concussion, he counts himself lucky anyway, because she didn't say no. 

“She sent a message out before I could stop her,” she says. “It's encrypted.” 

“Let me see what I can do,” Stakar says, and sits down at the console, pushing the corpse away with his boot. 

After about an hour that his companion spends assessing the ship's systems and taking stock of weapons and med bay, Stakar knows what the message says, and to whom it was sent. 

~

They change the course, leaving Arcturus and the fleet of Reaver ships that is undoubtedly on it's way to their position behind. The woman has claimed the ship as her own, and when Stakar asked her to fly to Hexazhen, she told him if he needed to go somewhere, he could always take a space suit and leave through an airlock. They sit in silence afterwards, manning the controls and ignoring the corpses on the ground. 

“So what are you going to do now?” Stakar finally asks. 

She shrugs, not turning to him but keeping her eyes on the unfathomable expanse of emptiness outside the window. 

“Lay low for a while, I guess. Get in touch with some friends from off world. Make plans.” 

“You, uh,” he says, clears his throat, and tries again. “You could stick with me for a while. I usually stay as far away from Arcturus as possible, and I know people who could help you.” 

She snorts. “Sorry, pretty boy, but I don't think that's a good idea. Your dear ol' dad is after both of us, and he won't rest, especially now that he knows we worked together. We're harder to track if we go our separate ways, and I already got my own people. People I trust.”  
She smiles at him, a mixture of mirth and sadness.  
“And even if I didn't, I don't think the two of us would make such a good team, long term.” 

“Pshh, we'd make an awesome team, lady!” Stakar exclaims. She shakes her head, but this time her eye roll is good natured. 

“At least take my contact info so you can reach me. You're in trouble, call. You go after the old Ogord, I wanna be there with you.” 

“You really think you can help kill your own father?” she asks dubiously. Stakar nods.  
“He is my blood. It's my duty to bring him to justice for his crimes and the things he did to sully our family name.” 

“Funny,” she says. “I'm pretty sure he'd say the same about you.” 

“I guess it depends on the point of view, and one's moral principles.” 

“You have those?” The question is more teasing than serious, but Stakar thinks about it for a moment anyway. 

“Yes. Yes, I think I do.” 

~

Contrary to what had been claimed before, she does not throw Stakar out the air lock. She even ferries him to Hexazhen, and gives him some meds to help his concussion. 

They stand at the ramp, looking out over the dreary, ass end of the galaxy that calls itself a space port. 

“I was serious. If you need my help, you call. I stand by my word,” he tells her. 

“Yeah yeah, I heard you the first ten times, pretty boy. Now fuck off, before I change my mind and get rid of the last witness. And don't forget your shinies.” 

He pats his bag, slung over one shoulder, containing the biggest score he's ever made. 

Then she's gone, and Stakar is alone in the port of some backwater rock. 

He eats a big meal first, then meets his buyer, who nearly cries in joy when they hold the tiara in their tentacles. 

“Just wait until you see what else I found. It was a neat little surprise, I bet it's worth some extra units,” Stakar says with a bright grin, and holds his bag out. The A'askavariian eagerly takes it and peers inside, and then asks with a quizzical look why they would want to buy a heap of scrap metal. 

Stakar blinks, then rips the bag out of their tentacles and takes a look of his own, and indeed, there is only small chunks of hull plating, some screws, and a rusty lever inside. All together they are pretty much the same weight as the precious stones that originally resided here. He had carried them around, safely wrapped in an extra cloth to keep them from scratching the tiara, and therefore out of sight. 

He excuses himself, after receiving the payment for a job well done, and when he leaves for the junkers he thinks _Yes, I'm definitely in love_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, friend :D  
> Comments are eternal love <3


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